


shake it for the birds and bees

by ohtempora



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Drunk Sex, M/M, Makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 03:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16526174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohtempora/pseuds/ohtempora
Summary: He's been thinking about the stupid costume all night, four and a half drinks in, Cody's ass hanging out of his shorts and his abs framed by his tied-up shirt, and the sticky fruit scent clinging to him.





	shake it for the birds and bees

**Author's Note:**

> 6k of chatfic with ewidentnie about a frat au later, this.... happened. they're in a frat but also still baseball players at virginia, and the age difference is a couple years less, i guess roll with it. 
> 
> i went to a bunch of weird themed frat parties in university but, thankfully, never bros and farm hoes (the working title of this document).

The party theme is bros and farm hoes, and Chris would really like to know who the fuck on the e-board came up with that one. One of the seniors, struck with a terrible burst of inspiration, went down to the hardware store and bought a bale of hay and plopped it right onto the porch. Stray pieces tracked everywhere inside the house in minutes, where they'll stay for weeks unless someone's pledge gets coerced into picking everything up.

Thankfully getting dressed is easier than last year's Roaring 20s party, where he spent three hours in a thrift store downtown before calling his sister for help all because someone thought Theta needed to be classy. This time he finds a pair of jorts and a flag bandana, grabs a old baseball shirt from high school he cut into a tank top, and he's more or less good to go.  
  
The pledges, stuck in their particular, specific purgatory for several more weeks, get to dress up as farm hoes, and it's Chris's dumbass pledge who fully commits.  
  
He gets a few snapchats about it while he's in class: the freshmen got there early to set up and came in full costume. One is Cody from behind, encased in plaid and denim, jorts that go above and beyond into short shorts, the curve of his ass hanging out and a pale strip of his lower back exposed from where he tied a shirt up into a crop top.  
  
Rhodey sent it, and to be fair to him, Rhodey thinks it's funny, _look at this kid._ Rhodey doesn't know they've been fucking for weeks, after Cody got too high one Friday and crawled into Chris's bed and they both woke up hard, Chris grinding and grinding against his ass in the early morning light until he came, Cody shuddering and moaning beneath him, sprawled out on his side with a hand around his dick. They went to the dining hall when it was properly light out and didn't talk about it. Rhodey doesn't know the next weekend Cody came into his bed again and it happened more or less the same way. Two weekends ago Chris fucked Cody's thighs and didn't know how this could be so good.

They haven't kissed at all. Cody texts him constantly, baseball workouts and fall scrimmages are ramping up, they're in each other's pockets 24/7 between the frat and the team, and Chris should get sick of him but he doesn't mind. They haven't fucked. Rhodey doesn't know that Cody asked him to last weekend, tucked up next to him in bed after Chris came all over his bare ass, and Chris's brain stuttered because he doesn't want to think about what it'd mean, doing that with this kid who's not only his pledge but his teammate. Rhodey doesn't know how fucked up Chris is over all of it.

Chris shifts in his seat, suddenly more uncomfortable than appropriate for a history seminar on World War II.  
  
He gets back to the house around 7 and then promptly turns around, conscripted into buying a couple more 30-racks, the perks of both access to a car and actually being legal. By the time they're back with beer in tow it's 8:30 and a half-assed game of pong is starting, ESPN on the televisions and a sober-ish pledge behind the bar mixing up PJ.  
  
Cody finds him around ten. He lurches over to Chris and hugs him, one arm sliding loosely around his waist. Chris inhales, wrinkles his nose. Cody smells like beer but something else, too, overpowering and artificial. "Did you get lost in the perfume section at the mall?" He looks down. "Did you shave your legs?"  
  
Cody giggles. "It took like, four razors, but Kyle dared me. Said I wouldn't do it."  
  
"Yeah, you proved him wrong." Chris swallows, looks down. Cody is three inches taller than him and — has a lot of leg. "Why do you smell like a smoothie exploded?"  
  
"Becca in my class today thought it was funny. We sit next to each other. I shaved after my workout and forgot and wore shorts to econ." Cody shrugs. "She said my skin would get dry.” He pauses, teeth catching on his lower lip. “It's sun-ripened raspberry.”

  
"Right." Chris disentangles himself and reaches blindly for his drink, gulping down some beer. He knows he should be laughing at Cody. He should think it's funny. He's. It's not. "Um, your — mouth?"  
  
Cody's tongue darts out, tasting the shiny pink gloss coating his lips. He's got eyeliner on, and mascara, dark eyelashes charcoal-black. Chris is gonna think about this every time Cody wears eye black for a game. "Farm hoes." The gloss is smearing. "Kyle did it too."  
  
"I guess you and Kyle win pledge of the night."  
  
"Is that a real thing?"  
  
"No." Chris's mouth is dry. He finishes off his beer and hands the bottle to Cody. "Can you get me another?"  
  
He watches how Cody's ass moves as he goes, pale and peeking out from under the fraying denim hem, so, you know, that's cool.

  
_

  
  
By midnight Chris is feeling better. A pong victory against a couple of the seniors helped, and the beer, and another couple beers, and a hit off a joint that was getting passed around when he went for fresh air on the porch. Once baseball starts in earnest it'll be harder to do this on the weekends. He's never minded the commitment, though. Already he's looking forward to the crisp early morning air of spring, the weight of the bat in his hands.  
  
After his walkoff single to send Virginia to the College World Series last summer — there's so much pressure. Coach told him the scouts are gonna show up for him, in the stands with their radar guns and notebooks. Fair warning, Coach told him. Don't let it get affect how you approach the game. Don't let it get in your head.  
  
Chris is trying.  
  
He heads up to his room. Someone spilled beer on his tank top and he should change, the cotton sticking to his chest under the stain. When he sits down on his bed he takes a couple breaths in. He’s not out of it, but the last beer hit him harder than he thought, and when he closes his eyes all he can see is Cody, mouth open and ringed in shimmering pink.

They don't kiss. They don't do that. Chris wants to kiss him, but they don't.

The party can wait a couple minutes. Tossing the dirty shirt into his laundry pile, he finds a clean t-shirt and pulls it over his head, then slumps onto his bed, leaning back on his elbows.

He's never kissed a guy before despite his admittedly limited experience fucking around. It always felt like a complication, and it was easier to force himself to want different things, set lines in his head he couldn't cross. Handjobs in high school, neither of them looking at each other's faces. Fucking his teammate during summer ball, some kid from the SEC, different conference and unlikely to ever be an opponent. It was good but mechanical, and he didn't care enough to regret the lack of kissing, even at summer's end.

When he's drafted and signed he'll have more security. He'll have a bonus and a contract. Less than a year left.

Cody's different. Cody _likes_ him. Cody trusts him enough to ask Chris to try things, the progression from rubbing off against each other stoned in the dark quick enough he still doesn't entirely know how it happened.

Someone knocks at the door, and Chris starts.

“S’just me,” Cody says, muffled, and Chris exhales hard and yanks the door open. Of course it is.

“I'm just changing,” he starts to say, and then stops, because Cody is standing there with his tube of lipgloss out. “Uh—”  
  
"I keep licking it off," Cody says. He touches the tip of the wand to his lower lip. "It tastes like berries."  
  
"You don't." Chris swallows. "Have to keep, um." There's no blood left in the upper half of his body, all of it rushing down to his dick. He wants to taste the gloss too. He shouldn't. He's got two working brain cells left and Cody's mouth is shiny and open and wet.

"Burke wanted to know if you wanted to play slap cup," Cody says. The eyeliner he put on before the cocktail is smudged under his eyes. His tongue darts out, tasting the lip gloss again, and Chris just—  
  
They've been hooking up for weeks, fumbling in the dark, and they haven't kissed, haven't turned the lights on. He knows what Cody sounds like when he comes, knows the way his breath catches. Has jerked him off and fucked between his thighs but he hasn't seen it. It's different, behind the safety of an evening of drinking and a locked bedroom door.  
  
He leans in and presses their mouth together before he can talk himself out of it. Cody's lips are slick and open underneath his. He's right. It tastes like berries.  
  
Half a second later and he pulls back — they don't do this, Cody is his pledge and his teammate and kissing makes it real no matter what Chris should or shouldn't want — but Cody's eyes are wide behind the mascara he doesn't need.  
  
"Please," he says, right when Chris says, "you really do taste like—" and Cody slowly moves towards him for another kiss. Chris stares until he has to close his eyes and kiss back.  
  
"So, slap cup," Cody says breathlessly, and Chris pulls him straight into the bedroom, fuck Burke and slap cup and the party going on downstairs, they won't be missed, this is so much more important. He shoulders the door closed and cups Cody's ass, fingertips pressing against the hem of the denim, where he can feel cotton threads and the warmth of Cody's skin. He's been thinking about the stupid costume all night, four and a half drinks in, Cody's ass hanging out of his shorts and his abs framed by his tied-up shirt, and the sticky fruit scent clinging to him.  
  
They kiss again and again. Cody makes insistent little noises against his mouth. Chris got hard basically the moment he opened his door and Cody is the same, grinding his groin into Chris's, pressing his dick into the bowl of Chris's hip.  
  
Chris pulls back, sucks in air. "Can you even fuckin' wear underwear with those shorts?"  
  
"Yeah but not like. Regular boxers." Cody shrugs. The gloss is smeared around his lips now and Chris reaches out, thumbing away a trace of it at the corner of Cody's mouth. He pops his finger in his mouth and sucks the taste off before he can even think about it, watches Cody's eyes go wide again.  
  
"Fuck," Chris says — he's lost all capacity to say anything else — and yanks Cody down onto the bed. He kisses Cody again, chasing the sweet tang of the lip gloss, pushing into his mouth. Cody makes a soft noise, wrapping his hands around the exposed skin above Chris's belt.  
  
For everything they’ve done, this is new, and Cody’s hands are hesitant. Chris lays his palm flat on Cody's stomach, under his tied-up shirt, and feels his muscles jump. Cody shifts and and straddles his lap, legs stretched wide, hands on Chris's shoulders. The lip gloss is gone but his mouth is red and Chris's own mouth is buzzing from kissing. He grabs Cody again and pulls him in. Cody's hands are scrambling, tug Chris's shirt over his head and then his own, move down to Chris's belt. It's a good plan, Chris exhales in relief when his zipper is down. He palms Cody through the short shorts and squeezes, watches how Cody swallows hard, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.

“I wanna,” Chris says, no control left over his own mouth. “Wanna fuck you, do you still want—” just thinking about Cody's ass in the shorts and the smooth surprising expanse of his legs.

Cody nods, face tucked against Chris's neck, lips dragging down over the tendon there.

Neither of them move immediately. Cody is a warm weight on him, even with his bony hips and bon elbows. His mouth is hot when Chris kisses him again.

There's lube in his nightstand, thanks to the strep throat he got earlier in the semester and an overzealous helpful pharmacist, shoutout to student health. Chris leans back and roots around for one of the packets, grabs a condom too, then tears it open with his teeth.

“Yeah,” Cody breathes out, watching him.

He's only done this a couple times, and only watched this part, but he has an idea of what to do. Cody strips out of his shorts and underwear and arranges himself on hands and knees on the bed, tucking his elbows underneath him. The flat planes of his shoulders point up, the taper of his waist and flare of his hips and ass are smooth and perpendicular, and Chris touches the small of his back, listens for Cody's shocked, wanting gasp.

Cody arches back when Chris slides his hand down further, slippery with lube. He rubs between his cheeks, gets him wet, then pushes into him with one blunt finger.

“Uh, is that—”

Chris waits until Cody looks back over his shoulder, biting into his mouth. “No, keep — yeah.”

He doesn't know how much it's doing for Cody but Chris can feel him opening around his finger. He opens a second packet of lube and adds another, presses down and in, Cody twitching underneath his hand. They're making too much noise, or would be if there wasn't a party going on, music trembling the floor. Thank god for bros and farm hoes and everyone yelling over drinking games, he'll make it up later, who cares, who cares.

When Cody's ready he says so, and Chris looks down again at the slope of his back, freckly shoulders, how he could fuck this up and they would have the rest of the year with each other, playing every day on the same team.

He rocks in hard, steady, overwhelmed. Keeps a hand on Cody's lower back. Cody is pushing into each thrust, little undulating hypnotic motions of his hips, and Chris wonders why he didn't say yes to this as soon as Cody asked. How they could have had this already, screw the lines he's drawn and the boundaries he's set, they're all in his head anyway. Chris curls his toes against the bed and reaches underneath with his free hand, skimming it over Cody's dick. Cody gasps and freezes and comes all over the sheet, clenching down around him, and Chris stares.

“Did you. Uh.”

“Oh my god.”

“Should I stop—”

“ _No_ , I'm good, please.” Cody rocks his hips back and cries out, oversensitive. It's stupid hot, the half-gasp, half-sob.

“Okay,” Chris says, drags himself together. Cody's eighteen and wound up from being fingered open, from getting what he asked for. “Wait.” he pulls out and sits back, pulls Cody into his lap so that they're facing one another. “Better?”

“Yeah, yeah—” Cody shudders, Chris's dick slipping between his thighs. He reaches back behind him and sinks back down and Chris groans, forces himself to hold still as Cody's head tips back. A tear must have leaked out at some point, because he can see the smear of the eye makeup, watery grey high on Cody's cheek. Chris thrusts up, again and again, Cody meeting him. This way they can kiss. All the lip gloss is gone, but it doesn't matter, he needs the slick press of Cody's mouth against his, Cody's soft panted breaths. This dumbass kid, Chris thinks, and focuses on the heat around his dick instead of the warmth in his chest.

Cody's dick gets hard again, pressed between their stomachs, red and leaking on them both. Chris takes a moment to be amazed, wraps a hand around him and feels the weight of Cody's dick before he smears pre-come over the head. This is familiar; he's jerked Cody off before, even if the angle was different.

“I don't think I need—” Cody swallows, all red flush and fractured sentences. “It's okay.”

“Jesus,” Chris says. His hips jerk up hard and Cody whines. He tucks his face back in Chris's neck and Chris can smell the raspberry lotion and salty sweat and sex, kisses Cody's ear because that's all he can reach.

Cody comes again and Chris feels it, wet and spreading, Cody shuddering through. He fucks up hard as Cody chokes on a moan and comes too, roaring in his ears as he falls over the edge, his mind finally, pleasingly blank.

They cling to each other for a while, arms wrapped too tight. Cody's still shaking and Chris wants to ask him why before he thinks better of it. He's not on solid ground himself. The sex he had over the summer wasn't like this, didn't make his blood buzz in his veins.

Eventually he has to pull out and does it slowly, carefully, watching as Cody flops back onto the mattress with a sigh. Deals with the condom and chugs water directly from the tap, teetering on the border of drunk and hungover where it might be too late to do anything that will make him feel better in the morning.

Cody is passed out, clutching a pillow to his chest. That’s all fine. Chris has never made him move before and won't start now. He gets into bed next to him and listens to the party die down until he falls asleep.

 

-

 

Chris wakes up around 6:30, when the birds start chirping loud enough to be assholes. Hungover, a Saturday standard, Cody's long warm body pressed against him, and he's getting too used to that too.

Last night they fucked. They fucked, and Cody came on his dick once then got hard and came on his dick again. Come spring Chris is going to look across the dirt of the infield and remember every noise Cody made when Chris lined up and pushed inside him.  
  
Chris has eight months left at UVA and then hopefully he'll get drafted pretty high, assuming he can keep his level of play up, if he can top last year's performance in super regionals. Cody was hot shit in high school ball back in Arizona and he's eighteen. He's got three years ahead of him before he has to worry, and if the chips fall right he's looking at a first round pick, a million-plus signing bonus.  
  
After the third time they hooked up, Cody nudging back against him, breath loud in the dark, Chris figured out that he's Cody's freshman experiment, and that's _fine_ . Or it's fine enough, anyway. He's too fond of Cody already, knows it'll get worse when they're going on road trips together to play NC State or FSU and sit together on the bus, if they extend their season into July and make it back to Omaha.  Chris is convenient for him, and safe, and that's okay.  
  
"'m sticky," Cody mumbles, back pressed against Chris's chest. He's gonna look wrecked when he wakes up all the way, makeup smeared and probably a hickey or two, mouth even redder than the ill-fated pink gloss. 

Without thinking, Chris trails his fingers down Cody's spine, dips down to his ass, where he's still wet and a little bit open.

“You could shower,” he says, draws his hand back when Cody groans. “Or sleep more, if you want.”

It's finally silent underneath them, no more bass vibrating up through the floor, but Cody shakes his head and settles back against Chris. “It's whatever,” he says, and his breathing starts to even out.

Chris stays awake, listening to the birds outside his window, closing his eyes against the glare of the sun.

They wake up for real a couple hours later, though before the rest of the house is stirring. Cody stretches, sore, groans quietly. “Go use the shower down the hall,” Chris says, poking him in the side until he does before heading to rinse off himself. Cody comes back scrubbed clean, trace amounts of eyeliner stuck under his lashes. Chris tosses him a shirt and shorts and they head to the dining hall for breakfast, the same as they've done almost every weekend since rush started. They don't talk about what they did last night, and that's the same too.

“You going to the optional workout later?” Chris asks, when they've finished off a small mountain of potatoes and eggs and sausage. Cody nods and salutes him, a piece of bacon hanging out of his mouth. “Great,” Chris says, and tries not to think about convenience and experimentation, focuses on what it'll be like playing games in the spring with Cody across the infield from him, makes himself remember anything else at all.

Eight more months of this and then he'll be gone, can follow Cody's career objectively from afar. He'll get over it. He'll be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> [chris taylor's walkoff single vs UCI](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HS5kTf_1XcU).


End file.
